#it’ll be all right though ♥️

[mrs-han]

Something that I need to revisit — a pain I keep burying, and words I wish I could have said.

This is very out of character, especially for someone like Jumin. Feel free to skip this piece; I couldn’t come up with an ending.

“Do you… do you not want to be with me anymore?”

“I don’t.”

Your heart paused - then hammered with a vengeance in your chest.

Jumin’s words - so immediate, so decisive - were worse than any punch to your gut. You had done it. You pushed your… husband…? So far away that he couldn’t find his way back.

And he didn’t want to.

Realizing you weren’t breathing, you shakily turned to face your desk. What were you supposed to say? What were you going to do, now? The man you had been with for so much of your life didn’t want you anymore.

The man who had promised you forever decided forever was too long.

Jumin spoke your name - loud and firm - but all you could hear was a sharp ringing in your ear. Like a bomb had exploded near you. Or inside of you.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll have the divorce papers filed and faxed to you.”

“Jumin —”

“Forgive me. But I don’t want to hear any more excuses from you.”

So cold — so unfeeling. You had done that to him.

“I… I’m sorry —”

“I know. You’ve said it many times before.”

“Jumin.” You stumbled towards him. You didn’t like begging anybody for anything. But there were always firsts for everything. Clasping your hands in front of you, you stared into his eyes, void of any sentiment. “I know I haven’t been easy to live with, but you can’t…”

Jumin crossed his arms definitively over his chest — blocking himself from you completely. “I can’t what. I can’t leave? Is that what you’d like to say?”

Power surged through your voice. “I promised you till death do us part, and you promised me the same!”

He didn’t say anything. His expression towards you didn’t change.

“You — you saw me at my worst, and decided that it was too much?”

“Every time I tried to help you, you shoved me away. You were always angry with me over something — something.” A trace of emotion escapes Jumin’s lips. “Each time, you’d apologize. But nothing came from it. You remained closed off, hostile, insufferable.”

You trembled harder now. “Have you stopped to think that I’ve put up with your imperfections without complaint? I’ve always had an open ear for you. My arms were always open for you. And — when things were too hard for you to talk about, I’d show you more compassion than you had ever shown yourself.”

Jumin’s eyes stayed trained on yours. “You didn’t sit in front of our bedroom door, stressed beyond belief because I wouldn’t open the door for you. You didn’t have to chase after me —”

“I didn’t?!”

Jumin closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. The vein on the side of his neck started to swell.

You swiped hastily at the tears in your eyes. “I know I can be difficult. I know that I still have a lot to heal from, but I am not the only one.”

Jumin’s brows lowered.

“When you proposed to me, did you stop to consider that I am my own person suffering from my own demons? Or were you too absorbed in what you wanted in the moment?”

Jumin didn’t say anything. His body language didn’t reveal anything to you. His silence was deafening.

Frustrated beyond comprehension, you broke the skin on your palms, nails digging too far in. “When you saw me… all of me… you decided it was too much. But the surface level of my soul would have sufficed, right? The honeymoon phase of us was enough, right?”

Jumin finally broke eye contact with you… and checked his watch. “Can we wrap this up? I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

Your fingertips tingled. Your head pounded. Finally, your knees buckled — and you retched into the trash bin beside your desk.

[harrywavycurly]

What if it was Eddie who needed reader to be his fake wife?👀♥️♥️

Hiiii babes!!! Ohh love this!! Hope you enjoy this!!💖

“Hey sorry to bother you.” You raise your eyebrow as you feel a hand on your back as a voice pulls your attention away from the drink that’s in your hand. “But could you be my wife for just a few minutes?” You turn around making the hand fall from your back as you take a sip of the drink in your hand. You take the opportunity to look at the man standing in front of you and you can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness as a look of panic takes over his face causing his brown eyes to go wide as he looks over his shoulder quickly before looking back at you.

Before you can say anything you hear a loud laugh coming from the pool tables that are directly behind the nameless man who is standing in front of you. You watch his shoulders slump and his eyes close as he lets out what you can only assume is a sigh of defeat as the laughter gets closer to the two of you. The man stands up straight and puts on what you can clearly tell is a fake smile as he turns around and faces the owner of the laugh.

“Eddie? Oh my god how are you?” You roll your eyes at the how fake the girl’s voice sounds as you watch her open up her arms as if she’s about to lean in for a hug. You quickly finish off your drink and turn and place it on the bar before you step forward and wrap your arm around the middle of the man who you now know is named Eddie making him jump a bit at your touch but when he looks down at you all you have to do is give him a smile and he is quick to wrap his arm around your shoulders pulling you into his side.

“Baby can we go play a game of pool?” You ask as you place your free hand on his chest while you look up at him and you can feel the girl’s eyes on you so you slowly look away from Eddie and over to the girl. “Oh I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.” You feel the grip on your shoulders tighten as you give the girl a small smile. “How do you know my husband?” You don’t miss the way her eyes go wide at the word husband, you feel Eddie lean down place a closed mouth kiss to the top of your head.

“Uh we uhm-”

“Oh sweetheart this is Chrissy.” You look up at Eddie as he speaks and when he looks down at you all you can do is smile causing his cheeks to turn a light shade of pink as he looks back over to Chrissy. “We dated in high school.” You just nod as you look over at Chrissy who is just awkwardly smiling at the two of you and if you weren’t two drinks in you’d probably feel a little guilty for making her feel so uncomfortable but you didn’t get asked to be her fake wife you got asked to be Eddie’s so you’re going to be the best fake wife you can be.

“Was he this cute in high school?” You hear Eddie laugh as you look back up at him and take your hand off his chest and run in through his hair. “I’ve seen photos of him from back then but I need you to be honest with me….was his hair this nice?” Eddie bites back a laugh as you look over at Chrissy as you play with the ends of Eddie’s hair, twirling it around your fingers.

“Uh-”

“Actually don’t tell me it’ll just make me jealous.” You explain as you remove your hand from his hair and place it back on his chest giving it a pat as Eddie pulls you closer into his side so he can hide his laughter in the crook of your neck making shivers go down your spine as his breath hits your skin.

“Well uh it was nice seeing you again Eddie.” Chrissy’s voice is sweet and her smile is genuine as she looks at Eddie. You watch her smile fade when she realizes he’s not going to drop his hold on you to give her a hug and that’s how you figure out that this girl must’ve either been the one that got away or the one that broke his heart because even though the only thing you know about Eddie is his name you can tell he’s a nice guy. “It was uhm good to uh meet you-”

“Sorry to cut this short but the pool table is free and you know the saying about a happy wife and all that right?” You look behind Chrissy and see a group of men leaving the pool table as Eddie drops his arm from your shoulders as you drop yours from his middle so he can grab your hand.

“Have a nice night.” Is all you say as you look over your shoulder as Eddie leads you to the pool tables leaving Chrissy standing there alone by the bar.

“Holy shit.” Eddie lets out a sigh of relief as he lets go of your hand once he sees Chrissy head off towards her group of friends. “Thank you for that you-”

“We aren’t done yet.” You look Eddie in his eyes and then look over your shoulder so he can see Chrissy standing there with a group of girls as they not so casually look over at the two of you.

“Oh fuck.” You just laugh at his look of annoyance as you take a step closer to him so you can tuck some of his hair behind his ear. “You’re good at this.” He whispers as he places a hand on your hip making you smile.

“I know I’m your wife and everything but what’s our last name?” You ask ignoring his previous statement, Eddie laughs as you place both of your hands on his chest and run them upwards until your arms are loosely wrapped around his neck.

“Munson.” You just nod as Eddie’s other hand also finds its way to your hip giving it a little squeeze.

“Not bad as far as last names go.” You tease making Eddie roll his eyes as he looks over your shoulder to see if Chrissy or any of her friends are looking at the two of you. “Are we good?” You ask as Eddie looks back at you and you raise your eyebrow as he gives you a little smirk.

“Oh we’re more than good sweetheart.” He answers as he leans down and places a kiss to your cheek. “They left.” He adds making you just nod your head as his hands leave your hips.

“This was fun.” Eddie just laughs and nods as you unwrap your arms from around his neck and give his chest a playful pat. “We should do it again sometime.” You reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone, Eddie holds his hand out ready to take it but you hold it to your chest making him raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Who was she? And don’t lie because I was your wife for like five minutes so I can tell when you’re lying.” Eddie just lets out a sigh as you let him take your phone out of your hand.

“She was my girlfriend in high school and she dumped me for someone else and she just kinda broke my heart in the process.” He explains as he types his number into your phone so he doesn’t have to see the sad expression on your face, it’s one he’s used to seeing anytime he tells the story of how he and Chrissy ended things years ago. “But it was a long time ago.” You just nod as he looks at you as he hands you your phone back.

“Well her loss.” Eddie smiles as you slide your phone back into your pocket. “Because now we get to go on a date and maybe one day a few months down the line I won’t have to be the fake Mrs. Munson anymore.” You watch the same smirk he had on his face earlier reappear as you shoot him a little wink before leaning over and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“It would only take a few months?” He questions as you pull away from him and you just shrug playfully before turning around and heading towards the entrance of the bar. “See you tomorrow Mrs. Munson!” You just laugh as you hear his voice shouting at you as you reach the door.

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: like one curse word

INSTAGRAM.

liked by oliviarodrigo, charlieputh, and 738,928 others

yourusername baby’s too pretty to be put in the corner

view all 56,914 comments

landonorris BARK BARK

user mother is mothering

sza i’m so in love with you it’s silly

charles_leclerc pretty indeed

⤷ user unhinged charles spotted

⤷ user he’s making moves people!!!

lewishamilton are y’all seeing what i’m seeing

yourusername added to their story!

TWITTER.

the pre—race buzz was electric in the ferrari garage, your phone pinging with messages beckoning you to the mercedes garage on the other end of the paddock. you knew lewis wanted to see you, he’d been the one to invite you to the race in the first place, but there was something pulling you to the room filled with red. someone.

“hello again,” your smile widened across your face as charles dodged past mechanics to find you by the wall. his decorated race suit adored his lean figure, but his head was still free of his helmet, despite the clock ticking closer to when he needed to be in the car.

that godforsaken smile of his mirrored your own, knees wobbling as soon as it graced your gaze. without thinking, his arms pulled you into a hug. a friendly one, to be sure. a happy to see you, no matter how your heart yearned for another reason. the emerald in his eyes shone down at you, that same look he’d given you when you’d first met all those weeks ago backstage before your show.

and now here you were, after weeks of texts and late night calls, staring at each other through a fog of tension, waiting with bated breath. he speaks first, and you try so desperately to ignore how his gloved fingers brush your wrist when he does.

“what are you doing tonight?”

you blink, his eyes hopeful for an answer. your head shakes, shoulders shrugging, brain nagging to be an ounce cooler than you were being right now. “i don’t know. why?”

“let me take you to dinner. it’ll be my prize, if i win,” he speaks quickly, as though he needs to say it before hesitancy can change his mind. that familiar lump of nerves turns in your stomach, one you hadn’t felt in a long time. not since austin first asked you out — a feeling that had ended in catastrophe. could you face that kind of tumble again?

“charles, you have to go!” a voice nearby urges, every other driver already behind their wheels. urges him to move, and you to answer. his feet are moving backwards, slowly, but his eyes stay trained on you, awaiting your reply.

“well, you’d better win then.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername, and 762,629 others

charles_leclerc P1!!! so happy with today’s result, thanks to everyone who got me there ♥️ time to celebrate (even more)

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scuderiaferrari YES! 🍾🍾🍾

user THE THIRD PIC???

⤷ user bro thinks he’s slick

yourusername congrats again!! super duper proud 💌

⤷ user the hair in the pic looks so much like hers oml

⤷ user she literally just got out of a relationship like five minutes ago

yourusername i think i trust you enough to teach me to drive now

⤷ charles_leclerc only now? ouch, my heart ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

⤷ lewishamilton STOP FLIRTING

INSTAGRAM.

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yourusername what the fuck is patience?

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charli_xcx damned if i know

pheobebridgers a man? 🤢🤢🤢

⤷ yourusername so true bbz

user SQUINTING to see who the guy is

⤷ user maybe it’s just a friend?? who cares

⤷ user puh lease he got her flowers

charles_leclerc nice flower arrangement

⤷ yourusername i know a sexy florist, want his # ?

user I MOVED

TWITTER.

writer’s note: they’re getting there 😭 i’m emotionally attached to this fictional couple i can’t. fyi this is just a filler to move them along there’ll be drama soon dw

[steddieas-shegoes]

congrats on 3000!!! 🎉🍾🎊💖

For the sentence prompt: "I'm just gonna go freak out for a minute first."

Thank you!!!! ♥️

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Steve was holding his hand while the doctor checked his stitches. It wasn’t really that weird for him to be holding his hand, not since he woke up half-dead in the hospital.

It was a little weird that he was rubbing his thumb against the side of his thumb, though.

And probably a little weird that his other hand was resting on his head, a weight that was comforting and confusing all at once.

“Looks great, Eddie. I’d say by the next visit, we’ll be able to get them out and let these finish healing naturally,” the doctor smiled at him as he pulled his shirt back down.

Steve’s hand squeezed his, and he couldn’t help looking over at the sunshine in the seat next to him.

It had to be pretty obvious how he felt about Steve. He’s lucky none of the kids have caught on and started teasing him yet.

Robin has, but at least she knows to do it privately.

“I’ll have the front desk schedule you for two weeks out. You can grab an appointment card on the way out. Keep them all clean and don’t do any heavy lifting or physical activity quite yet,” the doctor reminded as she pulled off her gloves and threw them in the trash. “You boys have a nice day.”

As she left the room, Steve helped Eddie sit up slowly. He didn’t really need the help anymore, but he’d be an idiot to admit it with how much Steve touched him.

“Two more weeks, Eds! That’s better than what they thought last time,” Steve was so excited for him. His smile was lighting up the room and he looked five seconds away from bouncing on his feet.

“Yeah, it’s great.”

“Aren’t you excited?” Steve’s smile dropped at Eddie’s tone.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’ll be great to have less limits. Might be able to get the guys together for a jam session,” Eddie gave a small smile.

“But…?”

Eddie sighed. “But then you won’t be around anymore, right? Like, other than when we all hang out on movie nights. You only stuck around because no one else could really help me every day. Everyone had work or families that wouldn’t let them out of their sight.”

Steve looked heartbroken, and Eddie couldn’t figure out why.

“Eddie, I’m not gonna leave you just because you don’t technically need me anymore,” Steve shook his head. “We’re- we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course! I mean, I thought so. But I know it could just be that you feel bad and I wouldn’t expect you to stick around because of that.”

Steve grabbed his other hand, his grip tightening on Eddie’s skin almost painfully.

“I wanna stick around for a lot of reasons, Eds.”

Eddie was caught in his gaze, his wide, pleading eyes almost too much.

“Like what?”

“Like because you’re fun to be around. You’re funny and talented and smart. You taught me about Hobbits! Love those guys,” Steve stepped closer. “You’re brave and you care about all of us. You-“ Steve swallowed. “You see me. The real me.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie’s heart was racing as he looked between Steve’s eyes, down to his lips where his tongue had poked out momentarily to wet them.

“You’ve seen me when my parents have come home and made me feel like shit and you just distracted me with singing whatever pop songs are on the radio and helping me cook dinner. You’ve been there when I had a two day long migraine and couldn’t even stand up to go to the bathroom. You made grocery shopping fun! I fucking hate grocery shopping, but you just keep being silly and making me laugh and I had fun.” Steve leaned in so his forehead was touching Eddie’s. “You laugh at my jokes, even when they aren’t that funny. You listen to me when no one else pays attention. You see who I am and you let me be who I am and I don’t feel scared that you’ll run.”

“I’m not running.”

“I know. I love that you aren’t, that you won’t.” Steve closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were watery. “I love you.”

Eddie was certain he was dead. Maybe the last month had all been some coma-induced dream and they finally pulled the plug. Maybe he actually died in the Upside Down and the last month was his final goodbye to everyone in his own head.

He stood up slowly, trying not to push Steve away, but having to guide him away from the table he’d been laying on.

“Where are you going? You’re not leaving, right?”

“Nope. I’m just gonna go freak out for a minute first.”

“Um.”

Eddie smiled, leaned in to kiss Steve��s cheek, and pulled away.

“Give me a minute. This is either the most realistic dream I’ve ever had or the best day of my life.”

Steve snorted, but let him walk to the door and stand outside of it for a moment.

When Eddie came back in, his cheeks were red, but he looked determined.

He pulled Steve into him by his hips, crushed their lips together, and smiled so hard their teeth clacked against each other. It was a little messy for a first kiss, but they could get better.

“You love me? Really?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Steve laughed as they pulled apart.

“I thought I was obvious!”

“Not really. I was convinced I was imaging things! Robin had to explain to me what the hanky code was before I even believed you liked guys!”

They both laughed so hard they cried, forgetting entirely that they were still in the doctor’s examination room.

Someone knocked on the door and they broke apart quickly, trying to stop the laughter for a moment to deal with whoever was at the door.

A nurse poked her head in. “Sorry, don’t wanna rush you, but just wanted to make sure everything was okay? Did you need to see the doctor again?”

“No, no. Sorry. We’re heading out. He just needed a minute,” Steve said quickly, smiling back at her.

She nodded and left, leaving the door open as a silent reminder that they needed to disinfect the room for the next patient.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

“You don’t have to say it just-“

“I’m not. I’m saying it because I love you. I see you, remember? There’s a lot there to love.”

Steve turned a bright red, and Eddie decided then he would do just about anything to see that shade on Steve’s cheeks and neck as often as possible.

“Let’s go home,” Steve finally said when he recovered. “Wanna kiss you more.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

[wrangleandtame]

Here’s yet another Tyler x Kate fic - can’t stop myself ♥️🌪️

ANNUAL DERECHO

Kate’s anger came in tractable forms Tyler had easily categorized during their three months together. Most frequently when Tyler pissed her off, he’d easily disarm her with his warm charm or an earnest declaration. Occasionally, her quiet melancholy could metastasize into a subtle ire that she contained by seeking solitude. He knew this, and gave her the space she required to shake it off. These were rare occurrences, though, within her generally sunny and energetic mien.

For the last week, the team found themselves particularly unlucky in their weather chasing within Texas, resulting in tension and general unease. Kate never appeared perturbed by the losses, often taking to the radio with optimistic little comments: “Can’t wrangle them all.” “It’ll happen.” “Just a dry spell.” Tyler marveled at how a few encouraging words from Kate could reset the entire team’s attitude.

Today was different. She awoke with a biting choler dripping from each syllable. Simple questions, she met with curt monosyllabic answers, and avoided eye contact (her tell.) She busied herself with mundane tasks, anything it seemed, to avoid inertia.

He’d placed a hand on her back, and she’d bristled. She swerved to avoid his kiss, like she was dodging a fastball. The lightest physical affection she pulled from as though her skin burned from his touch.

His breakfast-loving Kate, who normally stacked hashbrowns and eggs into weird towers before consuming, who stuffed whole pancakes and sausages into a baggie “for later,” she’d say when rushed, today couldn’t be bothered to eat. Weather didn’t dictate rushing this morning, but she’d ordered only toast and coffee for breakfast, consuming a single bite of toast and three sips of black coffee (she preferred it sweet and creamy) before the scrutiny of his eyes upon her proved too much.

She’d mumbled, “not hungry, I’ve got to…” She’d stood up and left without finishing her sentence.

When he’d joined her in the truck (why wasn’t she sitting outside? The truck had to be moving for Kate to be happy within it.) she’d turned her knees away from him and dug through her bag, never finding what she sought.

Kate’s body broadcast her feelings better than words, something anyone with eyes could discern. Her shoulders lifted and tight, her jaw muscles clenched, she continued hunching over her computer, scowling at the screen. Every part of her looked wound tight, her countenance like a rubber band pulled to snapping.

He watched her face press into frustration while she typed furiously, pausing to pull out her tablet and only became further irritated with whatever she read.

“Stop staring at me,” she grumbled.

“You’re too damn pretty Kate; what the hell am I supposed to do? Like tellin’ someone to quit lookin’ at a sunrise.”

She didn’t respond with words, but her face momentarily transmuted from annoyance to a contemplative doleful expression. If he was reading her right, and he knew he was, guilt and regret had a hand in whatever was so obviously plaguing her.

“Something you want to talk about?” The bait probably too big for the hook, but he cast the line anyway.

“Like what?” She bit out, not raising her eyes from her screen.

“Weather? Politics?” She flinched at his words as though he yelled them through a bullhorn.

When she didn’t respond, he sighed quietly and said, “Just gonna check in with Dani and Dexter. If you need me, I’ll be across the lot.”

Her response was a terse nod again devoid of visual connection.

He whipped out a folding chair positioning himself next to Dani and Dexter; though his open laptop perched upon his denimed knees, his eyes barely left Kate’s form.

“She okay?” Dani asked, concern in her voice.

He gave her a brief reassuring smile, “She will be, but no, not right now she’s not.”

She didn’t require more of an explanation, and neither had Dexter, thankfully. Lily and Boone had driven into Galveston to pick up a part for the drone, relieving Tyler of the type of questions and interaction Boone would require given Kate’s behavior.

Several hours passed, and they asked little from Tyler. Instead, Dexter and Dani passed between them Doppler updates, snacks and weather chaser gossip as they reviewed disappointing projections.

When Javi’s truck pulled into the parking lot, Tyler straightened in surprise.

“Hey, thought Javi was in Galveston too,” Dani noticed. “Isn’t he supposed to be meeting with those fellas at NWS in Fort Worth?” Dexter asked.

“Far as I know,” Tyler murmured.

Javi parked near Tyler’s truck, hopped out and made a beeline for Kate. She glanced up, and an emotion Tyler couldn’t identify crossed her face.

She immediately shoved her tech aside, clambered out of the truck and briskly walked to Javi; when they reached each other, they hugged fiercely. Tyler could see her shoulders began shaking the way they did when she cried. She was fucking crying.

Tyler stood, started for them, and then stopped. Despite all of his instincts screaming to comfort her, he sat back down. Whatever the hell was going on between them, Tyler’s presence wasn’t needed, and he reminded himself to respect her boundaries. This did not come naturally to Tyler. He possessed a proclivity for protectiveness to the point of being downright territorial, though he hid it well, he thought. Thankfully, his desire to honor Kate’s wishes overrode any possessiveness that reared its very unattractive head.

Dexter patted him on the back, and quietly praised him, “well done.” Maybe he didn’t hide it that well.

It upset him to think on how all morning she had sternly rebuked his every attempt at connection, but Javi just appeared, and they were having this moment together.

Within this mounting frustration, an epiphany struck Tyler, and he whispered, “I’m an idiot.”

“What’s that?” Dani asked.

“Nothing,” he responded, his thoughts swirling with the formation of a plausible hypothesis for Kate’s mood, and Javi’s presence.

Now that he knew what he was looking for, Tyler studied their interaction for confirmation. Javi’s eyes were closed, but even from here, Tyler could see several rogue tears escape down his face. He said something, Tyler could see his mouth moving, and Kate pulled back a bit from Javi’s embrace, wiping roughly at her eyes and nose.

They continued to talk, Kate’s arms folded around herself as they did, and then to Tyler’s great relief, she half-smiled. Javi laughed lightly and Kate nodded. Javi pulled napkins from his pocket and handed half of them to Kate. She blew her nose, and he blew his, and they laughed again. Not joyous laughing, but still, it wasn’t crying.

Javi stuffed his napkins in his pocket and pointed at his truck. They hugged again quickly, Kate smiled wistfully, and Javi jogged back towards his truck. He caught Tyler’s eye, and with a subtle dip of his head offered a wordless greeting. Tyler returned it with a smile.

When Tyler tried to locate Kate again, she was walking quickly towards the convenience store across the street.

Tyler sauntered back over to his truck to wait for her to return and checked his phone, confirming his theory. Sure enough, on the same date, five years ago, an EF5 tornado ended the lives of Kate and Javi’s friends. He pulled open his phone’s calendar and typed: “Anniversary of Kate’s Tornado” and set it to a yearly reminder.

Kate exited the convenience store, and as she closed the distance between them, he smiled, “Hungry yet?”

She shook her head, and handed him a peace offering bottle of cold tea, “I’m sorry. I’ve been such a complete asshole today. I didn’t mean to - “

“S’okay Kate,” he smiled.

“It’s not. I’ve been awful to you.”

“You’re entitled to have a bad day every once in awhile.”

“Sure, but…I took it out on you,” she looked at the gravel and then up at him (finally! Prolonged eye contact!), her glassy eyes red-rimmed.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Ever,” she sniffed. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me?”

“Nothin’ to forgive,” he smiled softly. “Be alright if I hold you a minute?”

Unshed tears made her dusky sienna eyes sparkle, “Yes. Please.”

She leaned into his chest and he clutched her to him, one arm around her waist and one drawing her head closer. He kissed her head and stroked her hair. She unconsciously grabbed a fistful of his soft brown shirt like she was keeping him from pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, and he wondered if she was apologizing to some ghosts as well.

“It’s alright, honey. I can take it,” he kissed the top of her head again, and pulled her against him even tighter. He ran his thumb along her spine up and down slowly, “it’s alright.”

“Thank you,” she sniffed.

“For what?”

“For being you.”

AUTHOR’s NOTE: thank you to this beautiful fandom for all of your encouraging feedback. The dopamine hits from your comments is giving me life.

Was thinking of doing another chapter of this one from Kate’s perspective of the day. What do you think? Move on?

Am also working on two other Kate x Tyler fics - obsessed is an understatement.

[hitlikehammers]

almost out of time

rating: t ♥️ cw: boys being very unserious ♥️ tags: established relationship, featuring the party as supporting cast, also featuring shootouts! (with the most negligible stakes), post S4, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day twenty: Love is saying "I love you" even when you're scared (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

early 90s rockstar husbands, baby ♥️ this is apparently what happens when you say 'oh I'll skip day 20 because I have no ideas' and then ideas come for you because you were arrogant ♥️

“Stevie,” Eddie’s breathless, and he is, in fairness, often breathless around that name but this…

Not like this.

“Shh,” Steve bites out, hisses low through clenched teeth as he presses Eddie into the wall a little harder, chest heaving against Eddie’s; “quiet.”

“Steve,” Eddie pants, looking over his shoulder in the dim, there’s fog too, from where Eddie has no fucking clue but it cuts his line of sight to only just beyond Steve’s reach; he’s no use, and he tries to listen for the approach, for footsteps, but his heartbeat’s too loud; “Steve, we’re—"

A finger presses hard, jams his lips up against his teeth as Steve glares out the corner of his eye.

“They’ll fucking hear us,” he leans so close Eddie can feel the dampness of his words when he speaks, then the full drag of his lips; feels the instruction more than hears:

“Stay quiet.”

And Eddie’s trying, he really is, but they’re…this is fucking hopeless, isn’t it? They’re outnumbered, they’ve been running for fuck knows how long. Everyone else is already gone, it’s just them, and they…they can wait it out as long as they want and Eddie would take forever with Steve, he would, but not like this, and fuck, fuck—what good is it, what’s the point when it’ll change nothing—

“But Steve,” Eddie whispers, but his breath catches it and threatens to whine through his words; he nearly chokes trying to rein it back but Steve’s got his whole hand against his mouth, now: not hard, but present. Like a bolster. It feels protective. It feels safe where there’s no safety left.

The red flashes in the dim and fuck; fuck

“Stay down, and don’t fucking talk, okay?” Steve breathes harsh right against Eddie’s ear, and Eddie’s shoved up against him so close, so close that his warmth is Eddie’s warmth in the chill, so close he can feel Steve’s pulse inside his own; they’re, it’s—

They’re almost out of time.

“St—"

And then Steve’s lips are on his, insistent, demanding, claiming, keeping, his tongue in Eddie’s mouth and sure, it’s a very effective, tried and true way to shut Eddie up, but this: this feels like so much more; it’s all passion and feeling, adrenaline and that tip-of-a-knife feeling, that plunge-before-the-plunge and Eddie’s heart feels bold for it, and he sucks at Steve’s lip and kisses once with force of his own before he breaks off and cups Steve’s cheek, reaches to cradle his face full-on and steals one last kiss before looking him square in the eye, decision made, though—

There wasn’t really a decision to it; there’s no choice to be had when it’s him, or Steve.

“I love you, baby,” Eddie tells him fierce, with all the feeling in him; “so fucking much,” which is always true, not just here at the end. He hopes Steve knows that.

“Eddie, what the hell—"

And Eddie’s scrambling up, creeping out from their hiding place and toward the shuffling approach incoming.

“What are you doing?” Steve rasps, lunging to grab at Eddie’s ankle but Eddie’s determined, he’s got momentum, he’s already up and clearing the corner and—

“For love!” he cries out as he leaps into the open, arms wide and asking for the hit—

And it comes, it fucking comes almost immediately.

Eddie drops to the ground, gasping.

And then they’re on top of him.

“Fucking drama queen,” Dustin, Dustin of all of them has the goddamn audacity to say to him as he walks over his prone frame and takes aim at Steve who, in fairness, does take out Mike before Dustin takes three pulls to hit him and win the game to screeching digital fanfare through the speakers.

“You could have just stayed down, man,” Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes as he stands up and unbuckles his vest.

“We were almost out of time!” Eddie gapes a little, sitting up and pointing forcefully toward the big red numbers counting down how many seconds they had left in the arena. Less than three minutes.

“We could have made it, these shitheads still don’t have any aim,” Steve purses his lips with so much of that…that glorious bitchy judgement Eddie loves most to lick off of him, he wonders where he can drag him to—

The flickering of colors next to him catches his attention and: oh. Right. They dragged the kids here. It’s fucking sweltering, they’re all back from school, and the options were swimming or something air-conditioned. And the new releases at the movie theater were all kinda shitty.

And Eddie cannot risk getting them thrown out of here for public indecency at the minimum: the laser tag’s connected to the best fucking arcade in town.

And frankly, yeah: it’s been years in the plural now since they shut the Upside Down…y’know, down, but he’s kinda proud of the guys, extra proud of his Stevie, and actually, yeah, kinda proud of himself, that what with the dark, and the lights, and red and the guns: they were fine. They were safe.

It was fun. It was just a game.

“I mean,” Eddie picks back up his defense, gesturing at the at the kids with their little chest plates all blinking a celebratory red-blue-white-blue-red that feels either very patriotic or very law-enforcement-themed while his and Steve’s remain dark; “they were on their way to our location, one of us had to draw their attention,” and it was going to be Eddie because…

Because: for love.

“We weren’t gonna look there,” Lucas deadpans as Mike snickers and high-fives Dustin a little…a little too triumphantly and okay, fine, he thinks he’s starting to get why Steve had been taking this so seriously: to keep the shitheads from this kind of ego-inflating victory; “we were headed the other way.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to turn to feel the weight of Steve's stare, the vindication and self-congratulation in it's just…tangible in the air.

“Oh,” Eddie bites his lip, tries to think of an angle; “umm,” he twirls his hair and then Steve’s at his side, bumping his shoulder and he can’t really hide, or delay any further—and it’s Steve, next to him, so: he doesn’t exactly want to that bad, anyway, so he turns and gives the softest, widest-eyed look he can muster:

“Good intentions?” he sells it for as much as he can gather up, and Steve?

Steve just snorts, and bumps his shoulder, pretty fucking hard.

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve chuckles a little, shakes his head but doesn’t rush to follow the boys to the armory; he glances that way, but turns back quick, and then he’s grabbing the back of Eddie’s neck and: oh.

Yeah, this was more what Eddie’d been going for with the farewell-forever-my-most-beloved kiss he left Steve with before his grand-though-arguably-unnecessary sacrifice.

“And you’re buying lunch,” Steve breaks off with a nip to his lower lip before shoving his target-vest at Eddie’s chest and making for the door.

And Eddie’s a little breathless again, as he whines Steve’s name—so fucking often, just, breathless around that name—before he struggles a little to unhook his own vest because he’s actually hungry, now that Steve’s landed him with the bill for lunch, but really: it’s a fucking empty threat, either way.

Like: they share a fucking bank account.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[kookieswan]

Red Light - Diamond Eyes

Nightmare!Hoseok x Psychologist!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre: Horror AU, Monster AU, Psychological horror, HEAVY angst. The fluff disappears pretty quickly. Aha.

Warnings: OH boy here we go. Mentions of death/madsacres, heavy gore (dead bodies) and blood. MC gets injured semi seriously… It should be noted that this story will contain themes of horror/psychological horror and also explore obsessive behaviors and codependency. Many characters are morally gray. Please be warned!

Summary: You thought you had all the answers, thought you were safe, but in reality you’re nothing more than a lamb to the slaughter.

Notes: This happens a few days after Dearheart. It’ll have a part two, but for a while we’ll be jumping back in time to fill in some gaps. Hope you all enjoy!

This is Part 38 of the Red Light series. Find the Masterlist here ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Throwing the door open to your very cluttered office, you stare into the depths of the dark room. It’s as you left it, paperwork tossed onto the desk without a care. And you don’t care, not really anymore when you lie a majority of the time on the reports you turn in. No one needs to know what you know.

Stepping in sluggishly, you glance at the clock and see the hand slowly ticking toward the 6. It’s not your fault you didn’t get to sleep till late, not with everything on your mind. You take your coat off, tossing on one of the chairs as you slip on your crip white coat in its place.

Sliding into the comfy desk chair (that you had delivered for yourself because the one they provided you was horrid) you glance down with a frown, mad at yourself for not finishing everything last night. Pushing it aside, you lift the coffee you got beforehand to your lips and sip with a low moan. Peppermint mocha will be your serenity for now.

Sitting peacefully at your desk is something that doesn’t happen very often. You stare down at the cup you hold, sighing as you drop it lightly onto the table. It’s been an eventful few weeks, all of your Nightmares having high emotions, breaking points that have gone one way or another.

Making that breakthrough with Jimin was as shocking as it was amazing, though you can’t help but to thank Taehyung for the push. The snake like Nightmare has been the hardest to understand, but now…

Your landline starts to ring suddenly, startling to you from the thoughts you got lost in. Peering down at the ID, it flashes as Williams. You promptly press decline and then ignore the fact that he ever called because he doesn’t really call unless it’s something dumb. He won’t ruin your attempt at bliss.

It lasts for a sad twenty minutes before the quiet leaves you. The sudden thumping down the hallway isn’t weird at first, no. It’s pretty often that ominous noises echo down the halls, but the sudden yells and screams signals to you that it’s an issue. You pinch your nose, waiting for all hell to break loose, because why wouldn’t it?

The screams that follow after a short pause are horrifying; they echo loudly down the hall, tearing into your ears. It’s enough to make you lean back, a grimace coming to your face in place of the annoyance. What in the world…

The door flies off the hinges then, the same Nightmare as before ripping it off. He’s drenched in blood, covered head to toe like he took a sadistic bath. You stare, mouth slightly ajar as he steps into the room. It’s immediately apparent that somethings not quite right, the usual glee that Yoongi holds when killing completely absent.

His breathing is loud and uneven, and as he looks up, you notice his eyes have gone completely silver, no pupil or iris on sight. The man looks absolutely crazed, a snarl ripping through his chest af he slams a wet hand on your desk. You can’t help but to flinch lightly as some of the blood splatters into your face.

The more you look, Yoongi just appears… Wrong. Like himself, but bits and pieces are different. He’s taller for one, towering over you as he bares his teeth, the points there sharp enough to tear anyone to shreds. His face is sallow, cheek sinking in, skin tight on his frame. It’s him, but it’s not.

“They’ve taken him down below! They FUCKING TOOK him! Ripped him out of my arms and I could even do anything, FUCK.” It’s a mix between a wail and scream, the sound piercing through your confusion. Standing slowly, you try to look as nonthreatening as possible, words slow and overly cautious.

“They took…? Jungkook?!” The realization dawns on you quickly, panic setting in. Taking a Nightmare down below is considered normal but a regular human…? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Yoongi spits down at you, blood landing on the paperwork you were trying to avoid as he snarls again. It’s then the uneasiness sets in; Yoongi’s never been like this before.

“Who the fuck else would they take?! They took him from me and I-“ Watching his jaw clench tightly as his eyes close, it’s clear he’s holding back in every way he can from going on a massacre. The man takes a deep breath, shaky as he opens his eyes again. The pure lack of emotion in the shimmery depths borders on something sinister, and your anxiety raises.

“Why in the hell- Okay. Hold on Yoongi. Please, just let me figure out what happened-“ He doesn’t let you finish as he rounds the desk, tightly grabbing onto your wrist, elongated nails diging in tight. It hurts, but you don’t say anything as he tugs you out of your office. Glancing down, you wince at the way the blood he’s painted in sinks into your freshly washed coat.

You don’t get far before the lights switch off, red then flashing in their place. A Red Alert, meaning that somone had made it off this floor to notify that Yoongi got out. The Nightmare doesn’t hesitate though, kicking a body to the side as he continues on his way.

“We’re going to get him back right now Doctor. Right. Fucking. Now. I’ll paint the halls fucking red with more entrails and brains if I have to. Slighter every guard, we very doctor; anything that takes a breath.”You tug back on him a bit to try and get him to stop. And stop he does, right in his tracks. You nearly slam into him, not being able to catch yourself as you tumble to the ground.

The thickening blood in the ground washes over your knees and hands, and your stomach flips heavily. You’re not on the floor long enough to get sick though, the Nightmare pulls you up to your feet roughly, almost in a dragging motion as you slip around. One of your heels falls off, but you don’t mention it

“… Of course I’ll get him back, but I can’t just go down to the lower levels. I don’t even have the access… I’m sure I can talk with Dr. Kim about it, but…” It comes out almost confused; you’re not sure how to handle this anger. You’ve seen Yoongi livid, but never at you. Never like this. He stoops down low enough until your face to face, the death on his breath encircling.

You silently call for Hoseok as harsh puffs of air hit your face, worried now that this is completely out of your control. Yoongi’s gone off the deep end, and nothing you can say is going to change that. Not when he looks at you like he never had before, like he’s ready to end you.

“I don’t think you understand. I’ll hurt you, rip a fucking finger or two off. You’d be fine without them, still functioning and able to do your job. You don’t want that, right?” You stay silent, unsure of how to process his words at first ad you call for Hoseok again. Yoongi pulls back and raises his eyebrows high, waiting for your reply. You have nothing.

His hold tightens as he shifts, lifting your wrist up till it’s at eye level. You don’t have enough time to react as he continues to holds your wrist with the one hand, the other reaching up to grab a finger gently. He smiles down at you, teeth tie dyed in white and red as the lights continue to flash.

You flex your finger.

Yoongi snaps it like a twig.

The pain comes rushing in after, a cry of shock leaving you lips as you instinctively try to pull away. It sits at an odd angle, the look of it making you sick. Yoongi just holds onto you as you struggle, staring down with thinly veiled rage. He snaps it back into place just as quickly, the pain enough to cause dots in your vision.

“There we go.” You think you hear the smallest tinge of regret there, but he steels himself as he starts to tug you along again. You loose your other heel, feet slapping against the bloody floor as you attempt to keep up, mind in an uncertain haze. There’s no more keeping up, not now.

“Yoongi…” It comes out terribly raspy, nearing a sob as your panic rises yet again; he’s a lost cause. He snaps at that, grabbing the back of your neck and wrenching your head back. You cry out as his lips brush your ear, head twisted at an odd angle.

“Be good Doctor. Don’t make me do something I might regret.”

[stoneagedevil]

“Heads or Tails?” | Alastor x AntonChigurh!Reader

TW/CW: Murder/murder for hire. Mentions of sex/drug crimes and crimes involving children. Reader’s personality and morals are modeled after Anton Chigurh of “No Country for Old Men.”

—♥️—

It was the late evening, the time when Charlie insisted all of the residents of the hotel gathered in the lounge and share stories of their life on the surface. After a filling supper, of course.

So there you all sat. Demons of different ages, sizes, and shapes teetering on the edges of food comas, waiting to see who Charlie’s next victim of honesty will be.

“Maybe it’ll make you think on the good you’ve done on Earth, or even make you reflect on the bad and how you can change.” The Princess justified.

Change. It was something you didn’t like. Even in your life you’d been one to uphold some sort of routine.

You’re assigned a target.

You track.

You kill.

You disappear.

You get paid.

You sleep.

You get on the road.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

However, you could adapt if the circumstances called for it, and you were adept in doing so. It was what led you to be a great and feared overlord in Hell. In life you never made deals. Your targets could never bargain for their lives, as nothing was equal to them. In a theoretical sense, you wanted their souls. Fate brought you to them, and you wouldn’t reverse fate’s outcome. But here in Hell, soul contracts was the best and most efficient way to the top. So, as they say, you improvised, adapted, and overcame. Now a reaper of souls in the most literal way possible.

“Y/N, why don’t you go? Everyone’s shared what brought them to Hell.” Charlie’s voice was soft, and almost sympathetic. The sympathy made you uncomfortable, and though you never outwardly expressed it, you took a quarter out and started thumbing the ridges on the side of it.

“Same reason as a lot of demons are here for. I’ve killed many people.” You stated it as pure fact. You weren’t remorseful. You weren’t giddy at the memories of your victim’s slaughter. You were so entirely neutral it sent a chill down the spine of every demon in the room.

Alastor sat up in intrigue, subtly shaking the shiver out of his spine as well. Truthfully, you’d always been an enticing enigma to him. He had a feeling you’d been a killer in your lifetime, the way your observant eyes would flick from one side of the room to the other. The way you never flinched away at violence. The way you did everything. Always knowing the layout of a building the first time around. You didn’t seem like the type to commit crimes revolving around sex, or drugs, or children, otherwise we would’ve led you out of the hotel and killed you.

It was like you were two sides of the same coin, and yet you couldn’t be more different from each other. Alastor was a showman at heart, while you were so ghost-like, performing as though you were the very shadows that moved at his fingertips. His face was contorted into a permanent smile, while you seldom gave away your thoughts through expressions, he had to admit that you were harder to read than him.

Charlie cleared her throat and clasped her hands together in her lap. You knew she was uncomfortable by the soothing gestures she made to calm herself. “How many would you say? And for what purpose?” Everyone’s eyes were on you once more.

“Too many to count. I was a professional hitman in the 70s to 80s.” Now this thoroughly captivated Alastor, he’d never expect you of all people to be one to be hired. He always thought you were one of a strange principal (much like him), but money driving you to kill? It just didn’t make sense to him.

“For money?” Charlie parroted what Alastor’s brain was trying to wrap itself around. She couldn’t imagine taking a life in exchange for money. How could one put a price on a life?

“Yes, and no. I was always the right tool for the job. You only pick the one right tool for such things.” Your sentence sent a wave of confusion through the room.

“Right tool?” Charlie tilted her head like a puppy. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this. Even Alastor had a set of morals.

“Once I was hired to kill a target and retrieve a satchel containing $2.4 million-“

“$2.4 MILLION?! Christ toots, I woulda just shot the guy and took the money myself!” Angel interrupted.

“Then you aren’t the right tool.” You replied, coldly. “The man who hired me ended up hiring a group of men to kill my target. I went to his building and I killed him. He changed the rules.”

“But you took the money he had, right?” Angel asked, confused.

“No. The job wasn’t completed by me.” You stated simply, almost sighing at the simplicity of Angel’s mind, as if your reply was simple at all. Money, sex, drugs. It was all these demons wanted.

You were growing tired of it.

“My dear, if I may interrupt, what was your reason for killing? If it wasn’t money, nor for personal gain, then what was it? Morals? In my day I killed the most disgusting dogs that had the nerve to call themselves men.”

Charlie loved that everyone was joining the conversation, no matter how macabre the topic was. It created a sense of family that she’d been longing for the taste of ever since her parents had split up and neglected to visit her.

You didn’t mind Alastor. He wanted something other than what everyone else did. He made fine company, and always seemed to be watching you, as if to figure you out. He’d be doing it for the foreseeable future.

“I suppose it was money that led me to kill, but not in the sense you mean.” You flicked your quarter in the air, it coming back down into your awaiting hand where you quickly slapped it onto your other arm, the hand that caught it covering it. Your eyes flicked to Alastor’s, and it was then that Alastor saw how truly psychotic you were.

It was exhilarating.

“Heads or tails?” You queried.

Husk had witnessed a great many coin flips in his life and afterlife, but none made him chew on the inside of his cheek like this. He knew the internal wound would last for months to come, as his sandpaper tongue kept tonguing it anxiously. The tension that suddenly filled the room was palpable, and Alastor didn’t know if his heart was racing from fear, excitement, or something else he wasn’t entirely familiar with.

“My darling, I haven’t put anything up.” He chuckled, but it was mostly to try and calm his racing heart. How hungry your eyes looked awakened that prey animal within him, and he hated how much he loved it.

“You have. You just didn’t know it. You’ve died, gone to Hell, and now here we are. Fate led me here, with this quarter, and now it’s either heads or tails.” You said lowly. My, how talkative you became when it came to fate. This was your motive.

You were death incarnate. A tool of fate. The right tool.

He took a shaky intake of breath, deciding it was the feeling he wasn’t familiar with from his options listed earlier in his mind, his cheeks warming ever so slightly. “Tails.”

You lifted your hand, everyone’s eyes anxiously darting down to the outcome of the toss, and the coin read in Alastor’s favor. “Well done, Alastor. Fate favors you.”

His chest puffed out at the praise, almost as if to make room for the swelling of his heart. It was the first time you’d said his name, and given that you viewed yourself as a tool for fate, when reading between the lines, you’d just stated that you favored him. It was a feeling he could get used to. Perhaps he should listen to his body more often, as the only reason he picked tails was because of the excitable wagging of his.

It was this day that Alastor decided to begin pursuing your heart.

—♥️—

Combined two interests into one. It was bound to happen at some point.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

hope this is okay to ask

do you (or anyone else) know of anything on if reading skills/comprehension is included in skills that can decline because of autistic burnout or anything?

some context: i'm in college right now trying to finish my bachelor's degree. problem is, i'll be in my 6th calendar year in september and i'm just under 2/3 of the way done. i've noticed that for a few years now, my ability to read went way down. to the point where long blocks of text are sometimes impossible for my brain to process.

i'm diagnosed with ADHD and my processing speed is on the low end of average. i'm self diagnosed with autism and waiting to be contacted because i'm on a waitlist to be assessed.

i don't usually do my readings for my classes if it's not necessary because they're large blocks of text, and the language is really confusing so it can be difficult to read. changing the font doesn't help much. some fonts are better than others, though, and sometimes i have paper copies so i can't change the font or use text-to-speech to read them.

i've tried to explain this to family but they just brushed it off as me being in college and "everyone stops reading in college!" and "it's because you're reading all the time" but that's the issue. i'm not reading because i can't read most of the time. it doesn't make sense to me if i try a lot of the time.

no pressure to answer this at all, i was just curious if you knew anything/could find anything about this.

Hi there,

I personally can’t relate to this. I chose not to pursue a bachelors degree. I think it’ll be too hard or stressful.

May my followers can help? Hopefully some have been in a similar situation.

I’m so sorry that I couldn’t answer your question. But thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

[byhuenii]

⊱☆⊰ i like your…facade

shuntaro chishiya x fem!reader

synopsis in which chishiya likes to get under the skin of ryoheiarisu’s protective twin sister and, maybe he likes it when your annoyed at him even if it comes off as rude.

warnings annoying!chishiya twin!reader fluff?? crack NOT PROOFREAD i think chishiya is into people degrading him?

a/n i miss my silly little man and had the sudden urge to write about him 😘

𓈒 ˙ ♥️ ּ 🦢⠀ . ࣪𓇻 ݁

“so. how do i know i could trust you?” yn leaned on a wall arms crossed near her stomach, her eyes bright big boba like though that was contradictory to her demeanor.

chishiya whom yawned scratched his head titling it to the side, “you don’t trust me?” a sarcastic pout formed his chapped lips, rolling your eyes you licked your bottom lip while pressing them together. “i don’t owe you a reason chishiya, i just want to get out of here with my brother.”

“i’m trustworthy enough for you and your brother join kuina and i!…and usagi can join too sure” chishiya maintained your eye contact sticking his hand out for you to shake it. you looked at his hand glancing back to his eyes giving him an annoyed look. “i don’t trust you once again so no. but since you saved my brother,” you heaved a sigh “i’ll join.” you shook his hand before pulling it away giving him a flat smile.

arisu seemed nervous yet ecstatic he didn’t know how much longer he could last at this so called beach, usagi just wanted to go home no surprise. “ig we’ll meet you at your room tomorrow and discuss plans” usagi smiled at kuina and chishiya before turning around on her heels walking closer to you.

kuina and chishiya watched as the three of you walked away, telling from your body language it’ll take him a lot more to earn you and your trust. he liked that for some reason, what kind of issues did you have? why did he like that? something is definitely wrong with him.

“well that went whats the word..Fabulous!” kuina empathized the Fab in a sarcastic tone. chishiya stuffed his hands in his pockets giving small nods. “i’m going to play a game tonight, i’m running low on time.” he walked ahead of kuina, kuina furrowed hee brows in confusion he just did a game yesterday..

𓈒 ˙ ♥️ ּ 🦢⠀ . ࣪𓇻 ݁

that game was dreadful annoying and muscle inducing. for a spades game that felt like so much work—the card you guys already had so it was pointless. frustrated you harshly run your hands through your hair groaning outloud, god you just wanted to leave this damn hell hole. “you know what my little ladybug!” a low cheery voice rumbled the empty lobby.

rolling your eyes you had already knew who it was and you didn’t even want to deal with him right now, just the cherry on top of a beautiful ice cream sundae, “what do you want fleabag.”

“i think you put up this whole facade.” his hands were stuffed in his pocket. the hood of his hoodie rested on his head as his hair rested out, an earnest scoff left your lips. the scoffed turned into a laugh.

chishiya felt his stomach do a little tingle, it felt like butterflies were flying all over the place, how could he find a laugh so attractive? “you’ve never been so wrong in your life fleabag. i don’t put on no facade.” your voice was a sweet but harshly bitter,

chishiya just had a lipped smirk. he knew he somewhat got under your skin and it was kinda hot. “this “facade” you say i’m having is just me, it’s me only caring for my brother and i getting out of the jail.” you put your fingers up in air quotes.

“so if you excuse me i would enjoy my rest before i have to deal with those stupid speeches you executives have to tell us.” you finally took a deep breath, you turned on your heels to leave but you kicked your dry lips facing back towards the hooded man.

you had almost forgot about the card in your hand, 5 of spades. it was useless, “i forgot i had this. here yours stupid card” you gave him the crumbled up card. huffing you walked back to your empty room.

chishiya had been smiling like a mad man, he doesn’t think you realized. well he didn’t care. his heart was thumping, he felt his ears get hot. the slightest touch from you sent his body into this trance, and hell it wasn’t even a hug it was graze of the fingertips because she was mad and handed him the card.

it’s safe to say chishiya went to kuina’s room to tell her and recap the whole conversation with you, if you could even call it a conversation. his ears were still tainted red. maybe he was into you.

[the-californicationist]

Owww!! Vi las preguntas que reposteaste. Elijo la 5 y la 25.

Por alguna razón en mi cabeza tienes el cabello rubio, los ojos color miel o verdes, o una mezcla de ambos. Supongo que es porque me recuerdas al inicio del otoño, cuando las hadas comienzan a cambiar las estaciones y tiñen el verde de marrón, al igual que sopla mucho más viento.

Y siento que hueles dulce, pero a la vez picante. Como un postre con leche, miel, canela, vainilla y clavito (un condimento que suele usar mi abuela para un postre navideño).

A menudo me pregunto como eres, que haces y como te sientes… pero tengo la certeza de que eres maravillosa y muy hermosa. ♥️

Espero que la persona que te atrape no se ponga celosa…

Muchisimas gracias por tu ask, nena 🩷🩷 te amo mucho 🥰😍 and don’t worry, he’s the jealous type but I’ll tell him to make an exception 😂🩷

5. what color are your eyes?

My eyes are actually gray. It’s sort of like they have no color. I always wanted them to be dark brown like my mom’s. I also love people with hazel eyes that are all different colors and shades; blue, green, gold. So pretty! But mine don’t really have a color. It looks like someone put the black and white filter over them.

25. perfume/body spray or lotion?

Omg I am such a perfume lover!! It’s like my one girly obsession. I don’t wear makeup, and I’m not a big purse or shoe fan, but I love a good scent.

Right now I’m wearing Cheriosa ‘76 by Sol de Janeiro which is nice and summery, but I also wear their Cheriosa 71’ when the weather gets a little cooler.

My all time favorite spring/summer scent is Ralph by Ralph Lauren, but I’m worried that as I get older that it’ll eventually be too sweet of a smell for me or too “young.”

When wintertime rolls around, I’m usually in Tobacco Vanille by Tom Ford (which I cannot afford but I scrape and save to buy it anyway) and I layer it with Vanillary from Lush when I need it to be a little less serious.

I think the perfume that smells the best on me is Flowerbomb by Viktor & Rolf, and I get compliments on it, but it’s hard to smell it on myself for some reason.

I recently was gifted a tiny tester bottle of Ebene Fume by Tom Ford, but I don’t know if I like it enough to commit to that price tag. I do like how smoky it is, though, but I don’t think it’s for me.

Sometimes, when he’s not around to watch me, I steal a spray or two of my husband’s Hero by Burberry, just to be romantic and smell like him on my wrist or something.

I’m currently searching for a really good oud perfume, maybe one with amber notes in it, so if anyone has suggestions, please help a girl out.

Basically, if it has amber, wood, oud, musk, tobacco, floral, or vanilla notes, I’m a fan.

[scoops-aboy86]

not sure if you're taking prompt requests (I've been lurking hehe♠️♥️) but can we consider steddie who have sexual tension whilst also being each other's biggest hater? maybe Eddie is mouthing off to Steve and they place a bet; loser draws a card at random and if they don't complete it within the month then...I don't know but something embarrassing. let's say Eddie (cocky and on his high horse) underestimates Steve and loses the bet and draws the card: bulk up. And determined not to be a sore loser he goes all in, unfortunately he misinterprets just how much he's supposed to bulk for, and what bulking up actually entails 👀 by the end of the month that boy is busting out his pants

Hey there ♠️♥️ anon! I for sure take prompt requests, and I love the idea of these two giving glaring daggers vibes whenever they’re in the same room…

(The following is also on ao3, because, uh. It's 5545 words.)

They’d settled their differences in the Upside Down, that first time, right? Despite a shared mutual history of one looking at the other and thinking ugh, Steve had thanked someone who wasn’t a friend and didn’t have any person interest vested in his safety for coming to help rescue him from a gruesome death, and Eddie had broken with years of anti-jock, anti-popular tradition to admit that Steeeeve Harrington was a good dude. They’d even bonded a little over how much of a butthead Dustin was. Right? 

Wrong. The truce only held up until Eddie nearly died by bat attack, though it wasn’t officially called off until several weeks after that because Eddie was in a literal coma. Pretty much the last thing Steve had said was to not try and be a hero, and Eddie had agreed… and then pulled that shit? The idiot had nearly bled out in Dustin’s goddamn arms—leaving the fifteen year old even more shell shocked than he had been after Starcourt when it had finally, fully hit him that Steve could have been literally tortured to death, just because he’d picked up some weird Russian transmission. 

So Eddie’s first real day coherently awake and not foggy from pain meds, jarring and stressful as all that was on its own, also included a vicious reprimand to the tune of what the hell were you thinking from the former King of Hawkins High. And, hey, he firmly maintained that if you kicked a man when he was down then you shouldn’t be surprised when he goes for your ankles. The shouting match that ensued only ended when Robin, Jonathan, and Jonathan’s weird friend from California physically dragged him out of the room, while Dustin and Mike each put a hand on Eddie and effectively held their weakened DM pinned to keep him from giving chase when he could not, in fact, actually walk. 

(Surprisingly, Mike is actually on Steve’s side with that one. It’s because upon returning to Hawkins, when getting the full rundown, Dustin had said, “He was dying, he was right there and I couldn’t do anything to save him… It was like when Troy told you to jump off the quarry and you actually did it. I was useless then too.” One look at his friend’s haunted expression and Mike was thoroughly pissed off at both Eddie and his past self, no matter how okay things had turned out after.)

Everyone hopes it’ll blow over, but both Steve and Eddie are stubborn as hell and convinced the other is in the wrong. Neither wants to back down, so they don’t. Things snowball into an active feud, Steve with his sarcastic  comments and the bitchy faces he pulls, and Eddie jumping on furniture to deliver thinly veiled speeches about whatever his beef of the day with Steve is this time—both dramatic as fuck and not nearly as ashamed enough about how loud and petulant their complaints about each other are. 

As Robin likes to say, they’re both kind of right but they’re also both morons. 

So their friends do what any reasonable group of young people irreparably traumatized by intradimensional monsters would do: they trick both of them into the same room and lock the door until they either sort their shit out or knock each other unconscious. The new Hopper-Byers house has a basement that doubles as a tornado shelter that’s just perfect for keeping them contained, no windows and all. 

By the time the Party lets them out, they seem to have reached a truce. 

Robin finds out later, though, that they haven’t ended their feud so much as… turned it into a competition. They’ve given each other a month to get into one of the other’s hobbies, though she does not get any explanation of how the results will be judged or what the ‘winner’ gets out of this besides general bragging rights. Steve will try and learn guitar well enough to play a single song (and not that Twinkle Twinkle Little Star shit in the guitar for beginners books, an actual, recognizable song that one might hear on the radio, singing optional), and Eddie will try and bulk up. 

“Bulk up,” Robin repeats flatly, picturing Eddie’s toothpick frame and absolutely failing at imagining muscles showing up on it. “Eddie Munson, who was held back for two years in part because he refused to climb a rope in gym, or participate in any other Presidential Fitness Test activity as an anti-war, anti-mindless sheep protest, is going to take up working out.”

Steve just shrugs with a smirk. “I don’t know, all he said was ‘bulk up.’ We’re not asking each other for advice—which means he can’t ask Lucas either, since that’s just, like, my advice but trickle-down style—”

“That’s not a phrase you should use, Steve. Not when you’re making… that face.” Robin is starting to think that the sexual tension between these two idiots isn’t completely in her imagination. 

“Whatever, he can’t ask for my advice and I can’t ask for his. By the way, do you know anything about playing guitar?”

It’s going to be a long month. 

“Okay,” Gareth begins, “I’ve done some research, and I’ve compiled a list of—”

Eddie snatches the sheet of paper out of his hand, ignoring Gareth’s grumbles as he scans it. “‘Eat lots of starch to fuel the body,’” he reads. “Okay, easy enough. ‘Lots of protein, fish is good.’ Done, I fuckin’ love fish sticks. Healthy fats, blah blah blah… ‘Recovery after workouts is important.’ Makes sense.” He flicks the paper back in the younger boy’s direction, sitting back into the couch in his trailer with an exaggerated stretch. “This is going to be easy. I can just carry amps around like usual and eat up, I’ve got this in the bag. Harrington is going down.”

Snatching it up, Gareth shoots Eddie an annoyed look. “This is bringing out a lovely color in you, dude. I might not be around much for the next thirty days.”

Eddie snorts. “Band practice,” he reminds him in a sing-song voice. “I’m thinking we can do two or three times a week now that school’s out.”

“Yeah, about that…”

And that’s how Eddie finds out that Gareth is being dragged on a family road trip next week to visit some great aunt or uncle somewhere, Jeff has already started courses at the nearest community college, and Frank has a full time job washing dishes at Enzo’s now. The latter two will probably give Eddie a good in for selling to new customers, now that he’s been freed from perpetual daily  forced contact with high schoolers, but other than that it all kind of sucks. 

After Gareth leaves, Eddie sulks his way to the grocery store to pick up what he figures he needs for the next few weeks. Piles the shopping cart up with fish sticks and ketchup, protein powder and ice cream (because the list had said something about smoothies, there’s ice cream in those, right?), pasta, various kinds sauces to keep things interesting, a bunch of different kinds of chips for snacking, and bacon and a carton of eggs for breakfasts. That should cover most of it, right? He can come back for more whenever, but he thinks this might last him a week. No skin off his nose when that big government payout is basically footing the bill. 

One week later, Steve’s fingers are sore from trying to play his grandpa’s old guitar he had found in the attic, and he’s having a hard time with Robin’s explanation of sheet music. She doesn’t know a thing about string instruments, but she’s working out an arrangement of Everybody Wants to Rule the World that he can both read and play, so he can only complain so much. 

Eddie feels vaguely bloated all the time, but he deadlifts his amps and carries them around the trailer for a while several times a day and takes care to give his muscles a nice long break afterwards. He’s already had to make a couple more trips to the store for pretty much everything except protein powder… Which isn’t that bad with enough ice cream blended in with it, and sometimes he even remembers to throw in some fresh fruit for color. Sometimes he does bananas and peanut butter. Zero complaints. 

By the second week, Steve is making decent progress . He’s pretty sure, anyway. The music he plays is basic, halting, and awkward, but it’s music. The real VIP when it comes to helping him learn, actually, is Erica. She’d just taken up the flute in eighth grade, more to fulfill an elective requirement than anything else, and she’s a vicious but effective task master when it comes to making him practice. Her critiques, while scathing, usually offer the information he can’t make sense in of in a new way, sometimes easier to process. Between that and Robin helping him puzzle out where to put his hands to make the chords sound right, things are coming along. 

Meanwhile, Eddie has developed a routine. He deadlifts his amps and carries them around the trailer for a while a few times a day. He cools down with a joint afterwards, and if it’s a really hot day he goes through popsicles like nobody’s business. They’re basically frozen juice. Practically just water. He’s pretty sure he can have as many as he wants, and when he gets to the goofy part of his high he sometimes deep throats them just for fun—because he’s busy with this whole bulking thing, alright? Hasn’t had a chance to drive out to Indy for some good sweaty stress relief. The munchies hit him hard and there’s something satisfying in how all the snacks he blows through (ha) make him feel sluggish and warm on their way to making him bigger. He doesn’t give a shit about building muscles, it’s just… The sense of accomplishment is nice.

Partway through the third week, Steve runs into Eddie in the grocery store. Literally. 

“Oof. Hey, look where you’re—Oh, it’s you.” Eddie barely glances at Steve to make this assessment, he’s too busy trying to decide on what pasta sauces he wants to get for the next few meals. His cart is already quite full (plus there’s an entire case of Mt. Dew on the wire shelf underneath), his eyes slightly bloodshot, and he has an already open Snickers bar that he takes an absentminded bite from. 

Steve has to pause to take him in, knowing that something is different but not quite able to decide what… But his brain registers it as a vaguely positive thing all the same, and he finds the Snickers bar amusing. “Jeez Munson, you couldn’t wait until you got to the register? How long have you been shopping?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, swallows, and very maturely sticks his tongue out at Steve through his plush lips, right there in the grocery store. “I was working out earlier and got hungry, fucking sue me.” He makes his sauce selections and moves on, but Steve trails after him with just a dinky little basket with a few items in hand. 

Which… he doesn’t mean to do, but finds himself embarrassingly hypnotized by Eddie’s ass. (And since when is Eddie not flat as a pancake back there? Must be doing squats or something. Whatever it is, Steve can admit in the confines of his own mind that it’s paid off.)

He breaks off towards the register before Eddie says anything else to him, though—and before Eddie can notice the unexpected semi starting up in his jeans. And he gets away with it too, because Eddie is facing resolvedly away, unwilling to let Steve see the way his cheeks have flushed from that bare minimum of teasing. Because Eddie has only been in the store for less than ten minutes. Made a pass at one of the candy displays by the front entrance as he was coming in, and yeah he’s high, but usually he has some restraint. This time… he just really wanted something sweet in his mouth, and Steve’s comment makes him want to shove the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth all at once. (Which he still does, but manages to wait until Steve is gone and hold in the little moan that wants to worm its way out around the mouthful.)

If they both go home and touch themselves for a bit after the encounter, no one’s ever going to know. 

The next time they see each other, it’s because time’s officially up on their bet. Steve cannot get over how Eddie, who declines to sit down for this private little open mic event in the bland Harrington living room, fills out his jeans. It’s making his mouth water involuntary, throwing off his concentration while he tries to play the song he’s prepared. And what is up with that? He’s never looked at Eddie this way before, never had this problem in locker rooms with his jock teammates, had little trouble not looking or not thinking much of it if he did. Eddie’s not even naked for fuck’s sake, his jeans are just painted on, a stark contrast to the loose t-shirt he’s wearing. 

He needs to see what’s under that shirt. Doesn’t know what he’s hoping to see, other than, just… Eddie. Which is annoying as hell, because it’s distracting while he’s trying to play—a month is long enough for him to figure out some basics and a single song, but not to be totally comfortable with the instrument. 

When he’s done, he looks up from where he’s been focused intently on his hands only to see Eddie staring at him with a slightly furrowed brow, head tipped slightly to one side. 

“I can’t call it good,” Eddie says slowly, reluctantly, “because it’s Tears for Fears, for chrissakes. But… I am impressed.”

Steve resists the urge to pump his fist in victory. 

“For only a month of learning to play, the most painful part was really just your taste in music,” Eddie continues, smirking. 

“Oh shut up.” Steve rolls his eyes and puts the guitar aside with a huff. “Your turn, Mr. Metalhead Smartass. Time for show and tell.”

And Eddie barely hesitates. Sure, he knows that he’s kind of missed the intended mark on this bulking thing, but he definitely is bulkier. His pants, the same size he’s been wearing comfortably for years, are digging in at the waist hard enough that he’s opted to stay standing for now rather than risk their integrity. He’d gotten a new, bigger shirt specifically for this occasion just to draw out the suspense of the reveal. 

Part of him just wants a reaction. Like in the store, when Steve had teased him about the candy bar. He wants Steve to see him, stride over from the couch, and grab at the roll of pudge spilling over the top of his jeans. Call him out on all the pasta and sweets and nutritionless snacks, on getting high after his increasingly shorter workouts and clearing out the pantry. On the angry red stretch marks that streak the skin untouched by bite scars.

So Eddie wets his lips, and pulls his shirt off over his head. He shivers as Steve looks him over, even though it’s a hot day, and god he could go for a popsicle right now, would shove it all the way in and give Steve a show—

“Okay, let’s test it,” Steve says. “Arm wrestling, like we agreed. You want to do this in here? Or there’s the dining table, or kitchen counter.”

Eddie frowns, part of him disappointed. “Uh… Kitchen, I guess.” They can stay standing in there. No way he’s going to get down on his knees to arm-wrestle Steve fucking Harrington over a mirror-polished coffee table. 

Steve waves him on. “After you then, it’s over there.”

Because Steve is trying hard not to react to a shirtless Eddie Munson in his living room. He’d seen Eddie shirtless before but that had been in the hospital, when he’d been almost more bandages than man. It had scared him then, seeing the proof of how close they’d come to losing someone this time. (Again, even if Hopper had come back.) Now it makes him want to grab, maybe push Eddie against something, just to see… what he feels like under his hands. 

No, really, Steve wants to know. He can’t even articulate why to himself, but he wants, and he’s always been the kind of guy to jump first and ask confused questions later. 

So they’re in the kitchen, hands clasped and elbows on grouted tile, each pushing as hard as he can. Maybe Steve started with the intent of going a little easy, though fuck if he understands why—but Eddie is really warming up now and Steve, to his surprise, is having to work a bit. 

“You been lifting?” he asks. 

Eddie grins, wolfish, back at him. “Yeah, I have these big amps I carry around all the time. Musician, remember?”

Steve wants Eddie’s teeth in his shoulder. Wants to bite him, all over him. Wants—Jesus fucking Christ—to watch himself disappear into Eddie’s mouth like that Snickers bar, like Eddie couldn’t imagine not wanting to swallow him down. 

… Oh no. 

It’s not like Eddie ever had particularly defined muscles, and what Steve now registers as extra softness all over isn’t helping them show. He was a wiry dude to start with, never meant to have bulging biceps, but that doesn’t mean he’s weak. Not after all that post-Vecna physical therapy and the past four weeks of working out with heavy band equipment. 

Steve still wins the match, but it takes a while. 

“You’re definitely stronger than you were a month ago,” he admits. “So… I guess I’m impressed too.”

They just sort of look at each other for a moment. 

“So it’s a tie?” Eddie asks finally. “Fuck, what do we do for a tie-breaker?”

And Steve has a wild idea, one that, when he floats it, Eddie agrees to much faster than he’d agreed to the original bet.

The tie-breaker is this: they’ve ordered one large pizza each, and whoever eats the most wins. Eddie has barely stopped to consider that this might not be a fair contest; he hasn’t had lunch yet, and feels like his stomach is starting to digest itself. Hasn’t gone this long without a huge and heavy meal providing the delicious stretch to that organ that he’s recently grown to enjoy in weeks, and it’s probably a minor miracle that the hunger pains aren’t audible. 

When the pizza arrives he just about tears his box out of Steve’s hands, flipping the lid and grabbing the first slice on his way back to the couch without fanfare, only a huge bite and a stifled sigh of relief as he finally plops down on the cushions and gives his feet a rest. 

“Here,” Steve tells him, holding out a two-liter that Eddie hadn’t even realized was part of the order, he’d been so focused on food—and since when has Steve known that Mt. Dew is his favorite? “Hang on a second, I’ll get glasses.”

“S’fine,” Eddie grunts through a still partly full mouth, deftly twisting the cap open with his teeth, spitting it off into the distance, and raising the entire bottle to his lips for a long pull. “That hits the spot, thanks,” he says absently when he’s done, not bothering to put the bottle down as he reaches for his next slice. “Are you ever going to start on yours, or what?”

“I, y-yeah.” Steve turns away to his own box before Eddie can see the flush on his face, the one that goes all the way to his chest. What is happening to him? He hasn’t felt this tongue-tied since the first time he’d made out with Nancy, but why is it happening with Eddie?

Something about the abandon with which he’s eating, like it’s both effortless and necessary. Like he could keep going all day at the same pace, never satisfied, still chasing whatever it means in Eddie’s book to be full, and… Steve always has been a sucker for girls telling him how well he fills them up, hasn’t he? It had never meant this before but, well, there is some precedent at least. 

But still, Steve thinks, as he tucks into his own pizza. Eddie. They hate each other, right? That’s why they’ve been feuding. The dude’s theatrical persona and general aura of fuck the world puts Steve on edge… but there’s no sign of either while he’s eating, wholy focused on the task (meal) before him. 

Eddie finishes his pizza first, naturally. He guzzles some more of his soda, the bottle reaching about three-fourths empty, and doesn’t bother stifling a burp. Pressing a fist to his filling stomach, he manages to extend it to a belch, forcing out more of the gathering carbonation to make more room in there. Then he reaches for Steve’s pizza. 

“Hey,” Steve protests, but makes no actual move to stop him. (Part of Eddie wishes he would. ‘Jesus, Munson, you ate a whole large pizza in under fifteen minutes and you still want more? You’ve really turned into a fatass.’ God, that would be—Eddie crams as much in his mouth as he can while his free hand is already reaching for another.)

“I win,” Eddie says with his mouth full, muffled and chewing but still understandable. (Fuck stopping just to talk, he’s hungry, he needs it.) “You wanna get between me and—urp—my prize, Steve? Try it and see what happens.”

And Steve doesn’t, just lets him take what he wants, and god damn if that isn’t a strange little thrill. Grease is starting to drip down Eddie’s chin, pizza sauce gathering in the corners of his mouth. No one has ever watched him eat before but Steve is watching, his own progress slowed now that the game is up. 

They’re back on the living room couch, Eddie with his shirt still off and well beyond feeling self-conscious about the way his jeans are practically creaking at the seams the more he puts away. He’d give in and unbutton them (a common occurrence at home), but instinct tells him the problem is too far gone—the threshold between ‘tight’ and ‘too tight to get the button undone’ crossed. Still, he keeps eating because that feels better than stopping to problem-solve. He feels almost high under Steve’s gaze, an echo of the munchies creeping in that has him reaching for more pizza, more soda, just more.

Until the inevitable happens. Eddie doesn’t exactly notice it until he feels his belly drop, still cradled in his suddenly looser jeans. 

It’s not even the button that’s popped. The entire left side of the denim has ripped down to the lower curve of his ass, bare skin bulging out because he’d forgone boxers so they wouldn’t bunch up uncomfortably under the pants. 

“Shit,” he hears Steve whisper, and then bare skin is covered by warm hands and Eddie hums appreciatively as he’s cupped, kneaded, Steve’s fingertips teasing their way just under the stretched, shredded edges of fabric. Relaxing into the touch, into a quiet headspace he’s been falling more and more into over the past few weeks, where he just sits and eats. 

The fact that there’s still pizza grease on Steve’s hand makes it, somehow, even more perfect. 

“How did you do this,” Steve murmurs, sounding amazed, “in a month?”

Eddie just hums with his mouth full, relishing the attention. Now that Steve is focused on him he’s abandoned his own food, allowing Eddie free rein to take as much as he wants. 

He wants it all. Loses all track of time in getting it. Even more so when the pizza runs out and Steve is at his side offering a lit joint, his own partly-finished bottle of soda, and packages of snack cakes. 

(When had those come from? When had Steve left to get them? … Are questions Eddie barely cares enough to think, let alone ask.) 

Everything feels hazy and syrupy-slow as Eddie greedily sucks down the smoke. He’s so full, but not full to bursting, not yet—and this will help him feel hungry again, help him eat more. Maybe until he can’t even move. For now, the food keeps coming, sometimes brought gently to his lips without him having to do anything but chew, and Eddie gives himself over to the pure hedonism of it. 

Steve’s fingers around the joint (from Eddie’s jacket) rest against Eddie’s lips while he takes his hit. He’s still amazed that after only a month that Eddie can eat like that before getting high—how much food has he been going through in the name of ‘bulking,’ anyway? 

For a moment Steve feels vaguely guilty for setting the challenge in the first place, and for impulsively suggesting a pizza eating contest as a tie-breaker… but Eddie’s rosy cheeks and hazy expression and overall eagerness for more is both a balm and a cure. And Steve listens to him chew, and gasp and moan between bites, eyes dropping down to tattooed skin, flush and growing damp with sweat as Eddie gets more and more worked up with the crinkle of every wrapper. 

The pile of snack cakes is running low—the box had been full but Eddie is still going, one after the other after the other, so Steve puts the joint down and gets back to feeding. 

“You look so fucking soft,” he murmurs. It’s both derision and praise, and he glances up just in time to see Eddie’s eyes roll back in time with a deep moan, squirming slightly in his spot on the couch. “Oh, you like that? You like when you get called out on how big you are?” Watching him swallow and try to breath shallow enough not to jostle himself but deep enough to actually get some oxygen, Steve licks his own lips. “How much you ate to get this way?”

Eddie sucks the last mouthful from his fingers in answer, tongue swirling around the tips. There’s so much in there already that Steve almost has more chocolate, frosting, and cake crumbs when Eddie pulls off with a wet smack than he’d had before, but it goes straight to Steven’s dick. 

“Been eating all the time,” Eddie mumbles with a hint of a whine. “Can’t stop. Don’t want to.” He reaches out, not quite looking where his hand is going and groping around blindly until he finds Steve’s wrist and guides him to touch his gurgling belly. “Do you like it? Do you like me—urp—like this, Steve?”

“I really fucking do,” Steve breathes. God, his jeans are entirely too constricting right now, dick filling at the mental images of Eddie eating all the time—while watching tv or planning out his story-campaign things, even during simple tasks like putting his shoes on or applying eyeliner before playing at the Hideout, slowly chewing even in his goddamn sleep. (Which, realistically, he probably didn’t, but it’s such a heady thought that Steve doesn’t care about realistic right now.)

“I don’t even fit in my pants,” Eddie whines, pawing clumsily at his still buttoned fly while half his ass is already hanging out the rip. His pupils are stretched wide, eyes reddened, the high setting in nicely. “How, how’m I gonna go home?”

“Stay here,” Steve blurts out. “You don’t want to flash your wide ass around the whole trailer park, right? Just stay, plenty of room, and we can find you something to wear in the morning.”

Eddie nods, groans, and grips his distended belly with both hands. Steve helps as best he can, massaging over the other boy’s jam-packed stomach to coax all the carbonation from the Mt. Dew and Coke back out, spilling from Eddie’s wet and greasy lips like sweet, filthy nothings. And—

“Is it crazy that I still want more?” Eddie groans, tipping his head back to rest on the couch cushions. “Fuuuck that feels good Stevie, keep d… Oh god, mm, keep doing that…”

And then he spreads his legs wide with a groan, pausing to use both hands to finally get his pants unbuttoned. With no hint of self-consciousness, he wriggles his hand inside pants and pulls out his stiff cock, licks a long, lingering stripe along his other palm while maintaining direct eye contact, and starts to stroke himself. 

“T-that’s it, keep… You’re so fucking hot, feeding me by hand,” Eddie babbles. “Letting me have this, oh Jesus Christ—”

His fist is moving in time with Steve’s ministrations, panting and with a flick of a thumb over his cock head, twist of a wrist on every pass. Steve can’t tear his eyes away from the heated flesh peeking out between Eddie’s fingers—the one on his cock and the one clutching his belly, flicking continuously between the two. 

“You should keep doing it,” Eddie gasps, blind to the lack of remaining food he’s so full and gone. “Ste, Steve, that should be my prize for winning—” He pauses to let out a wet series of belches, hips practically jerking with them. “Ooh fuck, yeah, you should. You should feed me, keep making me bigger. Wanna be, mmmhmmnn, be full all the time, I’d let you fuck me even, god I bet that’d be good. W-wanna be filled from both ends, Steve…”

And Steve isn’t much better, barely blinking and throbbing in his pants, leaking a wet patch into his boxers, nodding and panting yes and uh-huh and I will. He’s thinking about how much he’s always liked going down on girls, and how different could a dick be? It’s not like he doesn’t know what feels good, and he knows the basics like keeping his lips over his teeth and using his hand for whatever he can’t fit, and Eddie’s thighs look soft and inviting. He can picture those thighs around his ears. 

Wanna be filled from both ends, Steve.

“Fuck,” Steve growls, leaning in dangerously close to Eddie’s face even if the majority of his attention is still angled downwards. “You’re getting fat, man. You want to get fatter? Bust more of your clothes? The way you’re going, this thing—” he swipes a hand down over Eddie’s rounded belly and then back up to his stomach, pressing out another round of wet, breathy burps “—is going to be huge. Your ass too. You’re going to bump into things. You’re going to lose sight of your feet, of your dick. How far do you want to take this, huh? Until you can’t even reach it under all that extra padding? You want to have to ask me to help you with that? If you can’t stand me now—”

“Wha,” Eddie gasps, shuddering, so close. “No, you’re the one… Can’t—urrp—stand me…”

His voice is so petulant, so sad, that suddenly Steve gets it. They’ve both been posturing, picking fights to avoid direct rejection. And Steve, without even realizing it until now… He’d been so mad about Eddie playing the hero and nearly dying because it had scared the shit out of him, and Eddie had felt attacked and lashed out right back. 

Steve slings a leg over Eddie’s, settles on him, and kisses him hard. Doesn’t even care when Eddie shakes and comes all over them both, biting Steve’s lip with a moan that could put actual porn stars to shame. Steve scrambles to get into his own pants and finish himself off a moment later, while Eddie is still catching his breath and groaning with every bump of Steve’s fist against his belly, but also still kissing him with no apparent intent of ever stopping. 

And they don’t stop so much as, Steve slumps to one side and Eddie is too bloated and weighted in place by his own overindulgence to follow. Which Steve whines about a little, but his mind is too blown to figure out how to sit back up right now. 

“I think I like guys too,” he says, dazed. “Is that a thing?”

“It’s a thing,” Eddie confirms, patting him on the thigh where it’s still stretched across the other boy’s lap. “If it helps, you’re taking it well.”

“Thought you said you wanted to take it,” Steve mumbles back, and feels a giddy little thrill at Eddie’s snort of amusement. “Speaking of things I just realized… Did we ever actually decide what  we’d get for winning the bet?”

There’s a pause. 

“I’m too full to think about that right now,” Eddie sighs, which they both know is a no. “Think I might’ve overdone it today.”

Another beat of silence, and then Steve can’t help asking, “Just today?”

A slow grin spreads across Eddie’s still-flushed face, the look in his eyes as he briefly bites his lip telling Steve that pretty soon there will be a round two. “Well now, sweetheart… Why don’t you sit back up here and tell me what you think, and we’ll just see if you’re right.”

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie

[pedrito-friskito]

dearest kay ❤️ happy sleepover!

i'm so glad you're feeling better now, it's awful being sick, especially at this time of year when it's so dark and cold too

i'd like to know, of all the boys you write for, who would you most like to take care of you when you're sick?

although we don't celebrate thanksgiving here, in the spirit of the holiday i just want to say how thankful i am to have met you here, you and all the other friends i've made this year, i really don't know what i'd do without you 🥰

mindi my darling! thank you!

ugh it’s truly the worst, but so grateful to be feeling good enough now to work on such lovely things for my lovely friends ♥️

this was a hard decision! I definitely toyed with a few others (Steve Rogers, Frankie Morales, Eddie Munson), but there’s just something about Marcus Pike that is just so comforting and so I chose him! (this is very self indulgent, very fluffy, exactly what I could have used when I was down for the count…!)

mindi you are the SWEETEST and I’m teary reading this. I too am the most thankful for the beautiful friends that live in my phone 🥰 I don’t know what I’d do without YOU! ♥️

requests are open until saturday midnight!

making a fuss

(word count 1.1k)

There’s a knock at your door.

The sound makes your head hurt, heaving yourself up off the couch, keeping your blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders like a second skin. You have to sift your way through the mountain of discarded tissues on the floor, some of them making their way under the couch as you wobbles towards the door. Each step seems to reverberate through your whole body, your ears ringing and your head throbbing. Honestly, who is knocking at your door? You told everyone you were sick, sending your friend group chat a myriad of sneezing emojis, and you’d cancelled your plans with—

“Marcus?”

He’s standing on the other side of the door, a large brown paper bag in one hand, a plastic one from the drugstore in the other, duffle slung over his shoulder. He steps in as soon as you move to the side to let him pass, the door swinging shut behind him. “Go and lie back down,” he says, moving both bags to one hand so he can brush your hair from your face, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Right now.”

Confused, you do as he says, waddling back to the cocoon you’d made on the couch. He gets right to work; you can hear him moving around in the kitchen, the tell-tale screech of your kettle reaching your ears a few minutes later. He breezes past you once, only to drop his overnight bag in your bedroom, before he heads back to the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a tray laden with a few bottles of water, a big bowl of what looks like soup, your favourite mug filled with what you assume to be tea, a box of cold meds, lozenges, and those fancy tissues with lotion that don’t dry out your nose from blowing all the time.

Marcus perches beside you on the couch, handing you one of the bottles of water and the cold meds first. “Here, take this,” he instructs. You do as your told, wincing as you swallow the pills. He gives you the cup of tea next, murmuring to you that it’s hot, making sure you have a good grip on it before he lets it go.

“What is this?” you ask, blowing over the liquid, inhaling the steam deeply. It smells like honey and mint and something else you can’t quite place.

“Ginger tea. My sister swears by it; it kept me alive the last time I had the flu. It’ll help, trust me.”

You just nod, taking a sip. He gets up a moment later, snagging your trash bin from the corner of the living room, starting to round up your tissues. “Marcus,” you start, moving to get up, setting the tea on the coffee table, “stop, you don’t have to do that. I’ll deal with it later.”

He shakes his head. “Nonsense. Lie down, and drink your tea.”

“But you—”

He reaches out, cups your chin in his hand, thumb swiping at your cheek. “Honey, you’re sick. Let me take care of you, all right?”

“I don’t want you to make a fuss,” you sigh, sinking back into a couch, though your head thanks you for it. “And I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Stop,” he chides, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “I like to make a fuss.”

You sink back further, your eyes following as he cleans up. He disappears back into the kitchen after a while, and you can hear him tackling the stack of dishes you’d let pile up beside the sink. What on earth did you do to deserve a man like this? Like him?

You can feel yourself start to drift as the cold meds kick in, sipping at the tea that feels like heaven on your sore throat. You try some of the soup too, but the tray is too heavy to lift, so you abandon it, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Marcus reappears sometime later — you’re not quite sure how much time has passed — and makes himself comfortable at your feet, lifting your legs into your lap. You make a noise of protest when he peels off once of your socks, but his thumbs press into your arch a moment later and any further objections die on your tongue. It’s the weirdest thing; he massages your little toes, and you can feel your sinuses clearing slightly.

“Where did you learn that?” you mumble out, drunk off the comfort he’s offering. “Why are you so good to me?”

“It’s Chinese medicine,” he grins, continuing his massage, working the rest of your foot, seeming to be drawing out all the aches of your body through the soles of your feet. He goes silent after that, his brow pinching as he concentrates.

“You didn’t answer my other question,” you nearly slur, your head rolling back on the cushions. “I asked you two questions.”

His cheeks go red, and he smiles, one hand moving up your leg, fingers curling loose around your ankle. “I’m good to you because you’re good to me,” he says softly, rubbing at your anklebone, “and I like you…a lot.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he keeps rubbing at your skin. “I like you too, Marcus.”

You pass out a few minutes later, sinking into a dreamless sleep spurred by the cold meds. You come to sometime later, and Marcus is carrying you to bed. His grip is tight on you, his chest so warm and comforting you nearly fall asleep again. But then he’s laying you down in the bed, pulling the blankets back and tucking you beneath them. You feel him turn to leave, but you lift your hand, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt.

“No,” you whimper.

“I’ll be right back, honey,” he replies, brushing his hand over your forehead and untangling your hand. “Gonna go get you some water.”

You fall asleep again, coming to another few minutes later when the blanket rustles and he fits his warm body against you. You turn into him, burrowing onto his chest, fisting your hand at his side.

“Hey, Marcus?” you murmur, sighing into his touch as he starts playing with your hair, gentle fingers on your scalp.

“Yeah, baby?” he replies. “You okay? You need anything?”

You shake your head against his chest. “Earlier,” you mumble, dragging your nose along his chest, breathing as deeply as you’re able, “when I said I liked you too.”

“Yes,” he says, dragging the word out as he presses his fingers against the base of your skull. It feels like heaven.

“I said that I liked you too, but what I really meant was that I love you.” You pause, tilting your head back, blinking your heavy eyes open so you can see his face. “Is that okay?”

Maybe it’s the cold meds, but you swear his eyes are glittering. “Of course that’s okay, baby,” he grins, and his lips touch your forehead a moment later. “I love you too.”

[chattegeorgiana]

I absolutely adore the first chapter, I thought it was CANON--no, literally!! I was just browsering the Naruto tag and I was so excited to read the chapter. It wasn't until after that I read it was fan made... which in truth, I thought the writing was better!! I love this so, so much!! Pre-war I liked the thought of NaruHina and I still do to some extend but not the canon version OTL. I think that NaruSaku are just a better fit personally. That's not to say I don't enjoy NaruHina but... I like NaruSaku better. Yea. Haha. But sadly the NaruHina vs NaruSaku is a warzone. One can like both too, right? ANYWAY, I guess I'm a brand new fan of your work and everyone involved!! Thank you so much for this gem!!

OMG… I’m speechless 🥹

I would like to say something nice & eloquent to be able to properly thank you for your kind & beautiful message, but the joy you brought to my heart with this message is too much to put it into words.

So I’ll say a simple thank you & do know that’s truthfully from the bottom of my heart! ♥️

As for the art, it’s all thanks to the amazing @xravenniax & her skills! I couldn’t pull it through without her!

I’m so glad you enjoyed it, even as a NH fan. I’ll actually have more of them coming too & for whoever knows Kaika’s fanfic format, knows it’s upcoming. But it’ll take a while until it’ll get to manga format though ☺️

As for you enjoying both, you do you and never let anyone tell you otherwise.

Sending you a big pack of virtual hugs 🤗🤗🤗

[merv606]

Distant Thunder!Ralph is CRIMINALLY underrated. He’s such a soft little sweetheart here. His neat but fluffy hair! His big brown eyes! His shy little boyish smile! His sad little face! Naw, I love him! He also looks really Omega, haha. Him, Teddy, and Teachers!Ralph are my favorites for young!Ralph. And of course KK2, bless ♥️

I have been saying this!!!!!!

It was such a good look - so soft 🥰

I’ve been thinking lately of him - how he looked in that

With THIS TERRY

A professor AU and Daniel is his TA.

Now, there is also a dark ABO twist we could do - as you mentioned omega

Terry is up for the soon to be vacated Dean position and although he is the best suited and should be the clear choice, the fact is - his bachelor lifestyle doesn’t fit the image the school likes to present for their deans - all alphas, all family men with younger omega mates who, more often than not, are the picture perfect omega house wide/husband.

Well, the universe is shining down on him because his new TA is clearly a sweet little omega - attending on a full scholarship - who is also trying to hide the fact he’s an omega.

Terry though - is enthralled with the omega and knows he is his destiny - his very right.

He takes him under his wing, spending time with him - inviting him to his home to work on projects etc

Oh won’t you stay for dinner? There’s so much more we’ll be able to get done after ….

Terry is paid very well, and his house is kept up by the various staff and the cook always makes more than enough ……

Daniel, of course, never spent so much time around an alpha, let alone this closely or in such intimate settings so he starts to respond ….

It’s only a matter of time before it triggers a heat and he can’t afford the pricey omega birth control …. Something he had just enough present of mind to moan out after Terry got his mouth on his aching hole - Terry promising he’ll pull out - which is still risky in a heat.

Terry takes him in ever position over the several days it takes his heat to run it’s course - coming inside him more times than he can count - Daniel WAS begging for it each time and Terry happily obliging.

When Daniel finds himself staring down a positive pregnancy test - he is worried - about Terry’s reaction - although it can’t be a surprise given that not only did Terry not pull out but he knotted Daniel as many times too (the first time he took a knot) - and what it’ll mean for both of them - for Terry’s career and Daniel’s studies …..

Turns out it is wonderful news - the university is very traditional - and they say these things can’t be helped - it’s to be expected as it’s only natural - so they simply congratulate Terry - and although Terry tells Daniel that he’ll have nannies and whatever help he needs - he is sure the boy will make an excellent stay at home omega for their brood.

Terry is guaranteed the new position as soon as it becomes available in the near future- more money for his family which is growing bigger AND more time to spend with his new husband and baby daughter.

And when will you be adding more to your little family?!

A mate like that is just designed to be bred as often as possible …..

Daniel is heavily pregnant and glowing with their second at the celebratory party they throw Terry - so much for breastfeeding being a good form of birth control.

[kookieswan]

I BEG you to do horny hobi.

I'm on my knees for this. PLEASE!

Pretty please?

I’m feeling nice… Horny Hoseok? Horny Hoseok. Warning for nsfw/18+ content!

Hosoek is always a touchy guy, but he gets even touchier when he’s horny. He’ll be all over you all the time.

Sex usually occurs in your house but every once in a while, he’ll pick somewhere else that’s still somewhat secluded (his dance studio included. He likes the mirrors.) the man doesn’t have issue with others seeing him be affectionate with you.

He really does like to tease though - Lingering touches turns into him holding you as long as he can, sweet kisses turn intensely deep, cute words start to take on a more sultry undertone.

The teasing will end with him grabbing your ass, kissing your neck, touching your tits, and finally fucking you into the bed before long.

It’ll most likely start out as giggly sweet sex. He’ll lay you back against your bed, hold you close, and fuck into you slowly while holding your hand.

“Hows that sweetheart? You look so pretty for me, always do.”

Hobi is super attentive, watching ever reaction you make; every face, every sound, even your movement. He wants to make you feel good. He wants to feel you feeling good.

On top of that, he’s a talker. He’ll talk you through it with a gentle smile, his filthy words betraying his angel like appearance.

“You’re going to cum? Then cum beautiful, wanna feel you, wanna see your eyes roll back.”

And your eyes will roll back because you best believe he’ll fuck you right through that orgasm. Your eyes rolling back isn’t enough; he wants to hear you scream.

The angel like persona quickly slips away after this, shifting into something a little more… Intense.

Hoseok has no issue overstimulating you. His hand will leave yours and wrap around your wrists, holding you down as he fucks into you deeply.

Your moans and whines only make him go harder, the once gentle smile now a smirk, his voice holding a sliver of a taunting tone.

“How’s my cock feel baby? You think your cute little pussy can take more?”

He’ll wait for your confirmation and then flip you over, laying his body over your back to drive deeper into your sensitive pussy. His body’s so warm against yours, the weight absolutely delicious.

He’ll leave wet kisses against your neck, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he picks up the pace. If you clench around him he’ll lose his mind, voice rough and almost like a growl.

“That’s it baby. Take it like a good girl, hm? I know you can.”

“Gonna cum again? Go ahead baby, cum all over my cock.”

And you do, right up until he has you cumming or he cums himself, lets out a loud groan, fucking in as deep as he can before cuming inside of you. His hips will twitch a bit, and he’ll pull out slowly so he can see his work.

If you didn’t cum a second time, he’ll definitely be eating you out, fingers slipping into your oversensitive cunt as he sucks on your clit until you orgasm. Hell, he might do that anyway just to see have you crying out for him again.

He’ll praise you nonrstop afterwards, making sure you know how well you did and how much he loves you. He can resist seeing your pretty smile.

“You did so good for me love. So good. Love you so much”

He’ll turn right back into his bubbly cute self when you’re done though, asking if you need anything. Water? Food? Cuddles??????

Looooots and lots of cuddles and kisses. He likes to be lazy after sex and has no issues curling up with your and watching a movie in bed.

Overall, Hoseok tends to start out soft, fuck you hard, and then goes back to being a soft cute man. He just wants to make his pretty baby feel good ♥️